👑 Scroll of the Crown: When Fear Looks Like Distance

Some hearts don’t run because they’ve stopped caring.

They run because they still care,and don’t know what to do with it.

That kind of fear doesn’t shout.

It shows up quiet…

With distance.

With delay.

With silence that says:

“Please don’t come closer unless it’s safe.”

For a long time, I didn’t understand that.

I thought space meant rejection.

I thought silence meant apathy.

But now I see it clearer than ever:

Fear can wear the mask of coldness, when it’s really just armor.

And when someone has carried hurt like a second skin,

Even good love feels risky.

Even safety feels suspicious.

Even softness feels like a setup.

So I stopped taking the distance personal.

I started seeing the distance for what it is, a sacred call for space, clarity, and care.

I can’t answer it with pressure.

I won’t meet it with force.

But I can honor it.

With posture.

With peace.

With the kind of love that doesn’t chase, but waits with open hands.

Because I don’t want love that’s clung to out of fear.

I want love that returns because it feels safe.

And if the silence was protection…

If the delay was healing…

If the distance was her heart catching up to her hope…

Then I’ll keep walking with my crown steady,

And my presence loud enough to be felt

Even when my words are few.

🪞Final Reflection:

“Perfect love casts out fear.” – 1 John 4:18

Not loud love.

Not flawless love.

Perfect love. Postured love. Love that doesn’t flinch when fear speaks first.

Because sometimes…

What looks like distance

Is really just a whisper that says:

“Please… don’t hurt me again.”

And real kings hear that whisper

And respond with peace.

👑

👑 Scroll of the Crown: What If It Goes Right?

There’s a fear that creeps in when you’ve been burned.

A quiet one.

It doesn’t shout; it whispers:

“Be careful. Don’t hope too much.”

It’s the voice that keeps you scanning the horizon for what might fall apart… instead of what might come together.

For a long time, I let that voice lead me.

I thought I was being wise.

Calculated.

Grounded.

But the truth?

I wasn’t grounded; I was guarded.

I wasn’t discerning; I was defensive.

And underneath it all… I was scared.

Scared to hope.

Scared to trust joy again.

Scared that if I opened my heart one more time, the fall would finish me.

But something shifted in the ashes.

When everything broke… when silence swallowed what used to be loud…

When the echo of my own doubt was the only thing I could hear

I met myself again.

The me that still believed.

Not in fairytales.

But in alignment.

In legacy.

In a life that could actually feel like light.

I realized I’d been spending all my strength trying to protect myself from the wrong things.

And in doing so, I was blocking the very blessings that wanted to arrive.

So I made a new vow.

From now on, I lead with vision.

Not fear.

From now on, I speak life into what could go right.

I see possibility even when the pain hasn’t fully left.

I dance while the dust is still settling.

I speak truth even if my voice shakes.

And I build… knowing the ruins taught me how to never waste another brick.

Because what if it does go right?

What if the healing holds this time?

What if the joy is real and the love stays?

What if I was made for this kind of restoration?

That’s the King’s gamble.

To bet on growth over grief.

To wager legacy against loss.

To step forward, not because there are no scars…

…but because the scars became sacred.

🔥 Final Reflection:

Your fear is not proof that it’s not meant for you.

It’s just a threshold.

What lies beyond is a kingdom that only reveals itself to men who choose hope over hesitation.

So let the fear speak, but don’t let it lead.

Walk forward with your crown on straight and your heart open wide.

Because what’s coming might not be a collapse.

It might be the life you prayed for,

finally ready to arrive.

👑

How to Stand in the Ashes

(A Scroll for the Rebuilder)

Standing in the ashes isn’t about feeling strong.

It’s about not running.

Not turning your back on what’s been lost, what’s been burned, or what had to die for truth to rise.

You stand because you’re still here.

And sometimes, that’s the first act of leadership.

Here’s how to stand in the ashes:

1. Don’t Pretend It Didn’t Burn

Own the fire.

Call it what it was, grief, loss, mistake, heartbreak, pride, ego, betrayal, death of an old self.

Name it.

Because pretending nothing burned only delays the rebuild.

2. Let the Smoke Clear

You can’t see your next steps with soot in your lungs.

Breathe.

Mourn.

Let the whirlwind settle.

This is sacred ground now.

Let silence teach you before strategy tries to.

3. Pick Up Only What’s True

Not everything that survived the fire is worth carrying.

Some things survived because they were buried deep.

Others because they were meant to remain.

Look around you, not everything in the ash is yours to take back.

Pick up truth.

Pick up your integrity.

Pick up what aligns.

Leave what broke you.

4. Don’t Rush the Rise

Ashes are deceiving.

They look like the end, 

But sometimes they’re the only soil honest enough to plant something new.

Let your new posture rise slowly.

Don’t rush to prove your healing.

Let it speak without needing to shout.

5. Speak to the Fire Like a Friend

The fire didn’t come to destroy you.

It came to show you what couldn’t go with you.

So stand.

Let the embers remind you that pain isn’t the enemy.

It’s the invitation.

To rebuild.

To choose.

To become.

Final Reflection:

You are not what you lost.

You are who you became in the loss.

And when the kingdom looks for your leadership,

Let them see not a man who avoided the fire,

But one who stood in it.

Learned from it.

And built a throne from the ashes.

You don’t need everything back.

Just your crown.

👑

👑 Scroll of the Crown: What’s Left Must Be Royal

Inspired by the words of Marcus Aurelius

“Think of yourself as dead. You have lived your life. Now take what’s left and live it properly.”

That quote broke something open in me.

Because I have died.

To who I used to be.

To the man who let pride write his script.

To the one who clung too tightly to control, who feared being misunderstood so deeply that he stayed silent when he should’ve spoken with love.

The one who wore masks and didn’t know how to be seen without them.

That man… he lived, and he bled.

And he’s gone now.

What’s left?

A man who is learning to live.

Fully. Freely. Royally.

Not just to survive, but to celebrate.

To dance in the kitchen.

To laugh without shame.

To cry when it hurts.

To love with open hands.

To move with a rhythm that’s not rushed.

To build a kingdom rooted in truth, not ego.

I’ve lost a lot, more than I can put in this scroll.

But somehow, what’s left feels like the most precious thing I’ve ever held.

A second chance.

Not to do it all over again.

But to do it all right this time.

To be the kind of royalty that leads with light.

To live the time that remains like it matters, because it does.

So what’s left of my life?

Only what’s real.

Only what’s honest.

Only what’s royal.

And I plan to live it like it deserves a crown.

👑

🕊️ Scroll of the Crown: Confession is Cleansing

Based on 1 John 1:7–9 & James 5:16

There comes a time in every royal journey when power alone won’t move the mountain.

When silence is no longer strength.

When hiding becomes the very thing that’s poisoning your soul.

And in that moment, the Crown does not call for more control.

It calls for confession.

“But if we walk in the light, as He is in the light, we have fellowship with one another, and the blood of Jesus, His Son, purifies us from all sin.”

— 1 John 1:7

Confession is not weakness.

It is the light turned back on.

It’s the cleansing flood that clears the rot that’s been eating away at your strength in secret.

Because secrets grow in the dark.

But the moment you bring them into the light, healing begins.

“If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.”

— 1 John 1:9

Let’s be clear:

This isn’t about groveling.

It’s about realignment.

It’s about bringing the heart back into rhythm with Heaven.

It’s about letting the old guilt die so something new can live in you.

There’s a reason we’re commanded to confess to each other, not just to God.

“Confess your sins to one another and pray for one another, that you may be healed. The prayer of a righteous person is powerful and effective.”

— James 5:16

We don’t heal in isolation.

We don’t lead in silence.

We don’t transform by pretending.

Royalty rises through ownership.

Not image.

Not defense.

But honest surrender.

The kind that says:

“This thing has ruled me long enough. I name it. I bring it into the light. I ask for help. And I take my crown back.”

Confession is Kingdom work.

Not just spiritual.

Not just personal.

But generational.

Because what you refuse to confess , you unconsciously pass down.

But what you bring into the light, you disarm.

And what you own; you no longer have to be owned by.

🔥 Closing Decree

I don’t confess to feel better.

I confess to be better.

To walk in the light.

To clear the blood off my hands.

To stop the leak of pain onto those I love.

To walk with posture, unchained by the weight of secrets.

This is what royalty does.

Royalty tells the truth.

Royalty walks in the light.

Royalty leads with a clean heart.

👑

✍🏾 A Note from the Author

This isn’t just scripture to me.

It’s strategy.

It’s survival.

It’s how I found my way back from the dark.

Lately, several people have asked why I’m posting all my thoughts and feelings so openly.

The answer is simple:

I can no longer hide behind the curtains just to avoid being misunderstood or unseen.

That fear kept me silent. And that silence turned into shame.

This is my cleansing.

These are the apologies I’ll never get to give face-to-face.

So if I’ve ever bled on you while I was broken…

Please blame it on my head, not my heart.

I love you.

I see you.

And I thank you for still being here.

You don’t lead by being spotless.

You lead by being honest.

So this scroll?

It’s not just scripture.

It’s a blueprint.

For healing.

For reconnection.

For walking tall again, without the weight of the unspoken.

If you’re reading this and your soul is tired…

If your silence has turned into shame…

Then take this as your permission slip to come back into the light.

Confess.

Heal.

Lead.

👑 — O.D.